


The Final Countdown

by crazynadine, EG Challenge Submissions (6mgs7)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: #EGchallenge5, Anal Sex, Angst, Boys Kissing, Cartels, Coercive Sex, Drinking, Endgame, Homophobic Language, Jail, Loneliness, M/M, Mickey in Mexico, New Years Eve, Oral Sex, Parties, Regret, Sadness, Swearing, cell mates and soulmates., faking heterosexuality, hard drugs, time jumps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 20:11:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17230448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazynadine/pseuds/crazynadine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/6mgs7/pseuds/EG%20Challenge%20Submissions
Summary: New Years Eve holds a lot of memories for Ian and Mickey. Some sweet, and some pretty damn bitter. Some moments spent together, some spent worlds apart. But time and space mean little in matters of the heart..





	The Final Countdown

                                                       The Final Countdown

 

                                                   We're leaving together,

                                                      But still it's farewell

                                                And maybe we'll come back

                                                    To earth, who can tell?

                                             I guess there is no one to blame

                                           We're leaving ground (leaving ground)

                                              Will things ever be the same again?

                                                      It's the final countdown

 

New Year's Eve, 2009

 

The snow crunches under Ian's sneakers as he makes his way down the sidewalk with his brother Lip and Lip's friend Josh Miles.

He's not supposed to be out tonight, but Fiona is drunk already, and it was easy to sneak past her and everyone else at the house. There are parties everywhere tonight, including his own house, but why would he party at home when he could go out and be with people his own age?

Lip is walking next to him, bitching about the holes in his sneakers, and how his socks are getting soaked on the walk. Ian can't be bothered to care, he wore his boots, like a person with half a brain would.

They're not even going that far, anyway. Just down the block to Jenny Harper's house. Her dad is in jail, and her mom is working the overnight shift at the slaughterhouse, so Jenny is having a New Year's Eve party. All the neighborhood kids are going.

Ian's only thirteen years old, but he's no kid. He's old enough to be out tonight, with Lip, celebrating the New Year with the kids from his class. Even if Fiona still sees him as a baby, he knows better.

He's been through a lot of shit in his short life. He's mature for his thirteen years. He knows shit other kids don't. He's seen things other kids haven't.

Ian's not like other kids. That much he knows for sure.

He knows that because of the way he feels walking next to Josh. Josh is walking between the Gallagher brothers, hands stuffed in his coat pockets, head down as he tells Lip about a test he cheated on last week.

Ian is in love with Josh.

No one knows that, of course.

Ian knows he's gay. He may only be in the seventh grade, but he knows what he likes. He knows what gets him hard, and it's not the girl on girl porn his brother is so fond of. He feels nothing when he looks at those women. He's not interested in their abnormally large breasts, or their wide hips, or their high pitched, whiny voices. That shit does nothing for him.

At first, he was scared. How was he going to survive in this neighborhood being a gay boy? The answer to that question was as simple as it was sad: he wasn't going to tell anyone. Probably not for a very long time. If ever. Ian can't imagine what it would feel like to come out. What would his family say? His friends? What if he lost everything? What if he was left totally alone?

So, no, Ian wasn't going to say a fucking word. It was hard, keeping such a big secret, but the longer he lies about it, the easier it becomes. It's like he's two totally different people now. The Ian he is inside, and the Ian he shows to the world. It's a lot for a kid his age, but he can't see any other way.

Having Josh so close doesn't make thing any easier for Ian. He's had a crush on Lip's friend for months now, and every time Josh comes around, Ian turns into a smitten little girl. He has to work very hard to keep his cool. Can't ever let his guard down, can't touch him or talk to him too much, can't look too much or stare. He can't ever act too gay.

It's exhausting.

"Who's gonna be at this party?" Josh asks, pulling a drag of a cigarette they are all sharing before passing it to Lip. Josh is gorgeous, perfect in Ian's eyes. He's Lip's age, but taller than his brother by about two inches. He's got shaggy blond hair that hangs around his ears in little wisps, and cool grey eyes, with this incredible ring of gold right around his irises. Ian's never seen anything like it, and it enraptures him. His body is also incredible. Trim and tight, muscled, but not overly so. He's got long, strong legs, powerful arms, and an ass to die for. Ian's not sure why he's so obsessed with asses, but the older he gets, the more he likes them.

And Josh's ass is just....yeah.

"Everyone." Lip replies, pulling Ian out of his head. "Jenny invited everyone in the neighborhood." he takes a pull off the butt before passing it to Ian. Ian just started smoking. He's not even sure why. It's just something everyone does, and Ian never really thought about the reasons. It burns his lungs, and makes him dizzy, but besides that he feels nothing. But he is desperate to fit in with his brother and their friends. He doesn't need anything else separating him from his peers.

He's weird enough as it is.

"I hope Lexi is there. She said she wants to blow me." Josh grinned lecherously, waggling his eyebrows.

Ian gave a brittle smile back, as Lip laughed. The other two boys then launched into a long discussion of the various girls that would be at the party that night, rating them in order of who was most fuckable. Ian tuned them out, his heart sinking.

What did he expect? He's obviously the only gay boy on the entire south side.

This party was looking less and less fun the closer they got to the house.

This new year was looking less and less appealing, the closer they got to midnight.

 

***

 

"Fuck off, Mandy, get the fuck outta here." Mickey barked, pushing his sister away from the table. "You wanna beer? Go in the kitchen and get one. Jenny said there's queer fucking wine coolers in there too, for your princess ass. Strawberry breeze or some shit. You're not touching this shit."

"Mick, come the fuck on." Mandy whined, eyeing the coke laid out on the table in long lines. The drug was cut out on a small mirror, Mickey and two other boys sitting around blowing lines while they waited for the party to pick up.

Mickey didn't even want to bring Mandy tonight. She's only thirteen fucking years old. But Terry and Iggy are locked up, after a botched armed robbery of a liquor store on Halsted, and Joey and Colin are in Joliet, at a fucking poker tournament at Harrah's, so it falls to Mickey to take care of Mandy. He's only fifteen himself, but he's still her older brother.

He'd usually tell her to stay the fuck home and far away from him, but it's New Year's Eve, and he's feeling benevolent. So he let her tag along to Jenny's party.

That doesn't mean he's gonna let his thirteen-year-old sister blow coke with him. He's fucked up, but he's not that fucked up.

"You're not my dad, Mick." Mandy whined, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly.

"You're fucking right I'm not, but this shit's mine, and I ain't fucking sharing it with you, so fuck off." Mickey turned away from his sister, twisting the dollar bill in his hand into a tube and leaning over the table. He heard Mandy cursing him out under her breath as she stomped off toward the kitchen, but he paid her no mind.

He's trying to do the right thing here. Not that he'd ever tell her bitchy ass that.

Mickey's a fuck up. That's no secret. But he's not gonna help his baby sister become a fuck up too.

Mickey snorts his line, passing the rolled-up bill to his friend Mark on his left. He leaned back against the couch cushions, tipping his head back and pinching his nose as the drugs flooded his system.

His heart starts to race a little, and his body heats up the tiniest amount. Yeah, there it is. That feeling. Mickey hates most people, but coke makes them tolerable for the duration of the high. He smiles to himself, opening his eyes again. He turns to Sam, his other friend, ready to tell him a story about a freshman he robbed with a knife after school last week, when his eyes catch on someone by the door.

Shit! What the fuck is Alex doing here? Mickey had heard he got locked up months ago, for stealing a car down by the park. Mickey was hopeful he wouldn't cross paths with Alex again for a long fucking time.  

Hell, he'd stupidly hoped he'd never see him again.

Alex is the only person alive that knows Mickey's secret. His biggest, blackest, scariest fucking secret. The one that could get him fucking killed.

It's not even Mickey's fault that Alex found out. The guy was a fucking creeper pervert that got over on Mickey when he was too fucked up to know better.

Mickey will never say Alex took advantage of him, because he's no bitch and he's not helpless.

But he was drunk and high on meth and not thinking clearly. And Alex saw an opportunity and took it.

It happened about eight months ago, right before Alex got locked up. Terry had been out of town on a gun run, and Mandy was staying with Aunt Rand. It had been just Mickey and Iggy at the house, their older brothers hadn't been home in weeks. Iggy had taken it upon himself to have a little get together, inviting over all his scumbag addict friends. Mickey's no snob, so he'd sat down with them, drinking and smoking meth until the sun came up.

Alex had been there. Mickey knew him, but only as a friend of Iggy's. He was in and out of jail so much, Mickey never bothered to get to know him beyond splitting a joint or shot gunning beers.

But Alex had been acting weird that whole night. His eyes following Mickey around the room whenever he got up to get another beer. He'd sat next to Mickey on the couch, too close to be normal. Hell, he'd even laid his hand on Mickey's thigh toward the end of the night. Mickey had jumped like he'd been burned, lurching off the couch and toward his bedroom, calling over his shoulder that he was done, going to pass out for the night.

No one had bothered to respond, so caught up in getting wasted that no one even noticed Mickey was leaving.

Well, that's not true. One person noticed.

Alex.

Mickey had been laying on his bed in his boxers, his last beer of the night resting on his nightstand, his mind reeling with thoughts he didn't want to think, but couldn't stop.

Why had Alex touched him like that? Why was he acting so weird? Did he see something in Mickey? Something Mickey didn't want anyone to see? Was it obvious? Could other people see it?

What the fuck. What the fuck.

Just then his door opened, and the object of his distress sauntered into the room like he owned the place. Alex's eyes were wide, he was clearly high as a kite. Mickey was no better. He'd done too much, which wasn't uncommon. He'd also drank way too much, and was feeling slow and sludgy inside, while his mind was running circles around itself wildly. He felt sick and anxious.

"What're you doin’?" Mickey slurred, trying to sit up and failing. Alex was sexy, in his own way. Not that Mickey would ever admit that shit. He was tall, like Iggy, but had dark hair like Mickey's, long on top and slicked back. He had dark, almond shaped eyes and a prison hard body. Mickey doesn't let himself think of guys like that. Hot. Sexy. He won't allow it, usually. But that night, Mickey had been so fucked up, tweaking like a bitch, his gay thoughts had just run rampant in his brain, unrestrained.

"Everyone else is passed out." Alex had shrugged. "But I'm not tired yet. Gotta get some of this pent-up energy out." he had smirked at Mickey lecherously, stalking over to his bed slowly. His movements were choppy and he stumbled a bit, clearly wasted off his ass.

"Can't help ya, man." Mickey replied, eyebrows raised. " I already ate my k-pins. Ain't got nothing for ya." Mickey assumed he meant benzos or some other kind of downer, but Mickey was out of drugs at the moment, so Alex was shit outta luck.

"That's not what I want." Alex grinned, finally making his way over to Mickey's bed. "Turn the fuck over, and drop your pants."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Mickey growled, finally able to prop himself up on his elbows. Even as the words slipped past his lips, he could feel his traitorous body betraying him, heating up at Alex's words. His muscles tensed, and his body broke out in a hot flush. He dragged his knees to his chest, desperate to hide his semi hard cock. What the hell was Alex playing at? Was this a trap? Mickey had felt scared and exposed in a way he'd never experienced before.

His dick, however, hadn't gotten the memo. The way Alex was looking at him, coupled with the way he was commanding Mickey to act was doing fucked up shit to Mickey.

It turned him on.

He had never hated himself more than he did in that moment.

"Listen, you're not as slick as you think." Alex chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. Unless you wanna be a little bitch about it. This can stay between me and you. I see the way you look at me, Mickey. You may wanna work on that if you wanna keep a lid on your little secret." Alex smiled smugly, his hands reaching down to undo his belt.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about." Mickey spat angrily, his face burning hot with embarrassment. "I ain't no...I ain't no..." Jesus fuck, he can't even say it.

"I don't give a fuck what you are or aren't." Alex laughed, rolling his eyes. "You can deny it til you're blue in the face, but I'm pretty fucking sure you're gonna enjoy this, so do what I say, or I'll go wake up Iggy and tell him you asked me if you could suck my cock. How do you think that would go over when your dad heard?" Alex laughed at Mickey's terrified expression. "See, I don't wanna do that. I know what it feels like, keepin' a secret like this. But I do it, so you can too. Don't make me out ya, Mickey. I don't want to." Alex had his belt off now, his fly unzipped, his hand dipped in the front of his jeans, stroking his bulge as he eyed Mickey on the bed. Alex was obviously just as high as Mickey, if not higher. His pupils were bloodshot and dilated, his skin pale and waxy from days on end with no sleep.

Mickey wondered if Alex would be pulling any of this shit if he were sober.

Probably not.

And Mickey sure as shit wouldn't have considered complying. He should have fucking decked the guy right away. Because taking a beating would be better taking a dick. But Mickey is out of his mind on meth, and drunker than he's been in a long time, so his body and his brain couldn't seem to get on the same page.

Mickey's mind was blank, he was simultaneously terrified and turned on. It was a strange, foreign feeling. But the idea of being outed to his father spurred him into motion. He could see no other options. He was backed into a corner.

He blamed himself. Of course. If he could have kept his god damn cool, Alex never would have figured him out. How obvious was he? Jesus Christ.

Mickey had wondered what it would be like to fuck another guy. This was certainly not the way he saw it going down in his head.

He's no bitch, but he's also a realist. Alex is two years older than him. Seventeen and much bigger than Mickey. He could put a world of hurt on Mickey and laugh about it the entire time.

Mickey can admit to himself, if not anyone else, that he's curious, what it will feel like. But this is not how he wanted to find out. But, being kinda coerced has to be better than getting raped, right?

He huffs out an irritated breath, rolling over onto his stomach and closing his eyes as he pulls his boxers down over the swell of his ass. He's just gonna do it, and hope for the best.

Mickey can hear Alex breathing hard as his hand lands on Mickey's ass. The touch makes Mickey's skin crawl. Mickey feels gross, like a hooker or something. He hears Alex spitting, and he can guess what he's doing. Mickey's watched some gay porn, he knows what goes into two dudes fucking, but he's fairly certain Alex is going to skip the foreplay and just go for it. Mickey opens his mouth to tell Alex to at least put a fucking condom on, but his words are cut short when a pained whimper slips past his lips.

Too late.

Alex had pinned him to the bed with a hard hand to the middle of his back as he fucked him. Mickey grimaced, it fucking hurt. It was not at all pleasurable, and whatever semi he had withered, his soft cock pressed limply between his body and the bed.

Mickey pinched his eyes shut, focusing on his breathing as he waited impatiently for it to be over. Mickey can remember sadly thinking to himself that that shit right there probably turned him off taking it for the rest of his life.

Like he didn't have enough issues with his sexuality as it is. That one moment had ruined him, Mickey is certain of it. He'll never be normal, if he ever had a chance at that shit to begin with.

Alex grunted, but said nothing as he took his pleasure. His fingers dug into the meat of Mickey's back as he thrusted wildly. Either Alex has zero stamina or he was too fucked up, because a half dozen pumps later, he was leaning over Mickey's body, stilling deep inside him as he came hard.

"Fuck." Alex had the audacity to laugh, as he pushed off Mickey and stood again, tucking his dick away and zipping his pants. "Not too bad, kid."

Mickey had rolled over onto his back, grimacing at the mess on his ass and thighs. He feels dirty and used up. He had glared at Alex. "Fuck off, man. Get outta my room." Mickey had been so angry and full of shame, so confused. He had felt ripped wide open, on the verge of a massive panic attack.

He wanted Alex as far away from him as humanly possible.

Alex had just chuckled, shrugging. "Don't be a little bitch. Come see me in a few years and tell me I was wrong. You're a fag kid, even if you don't know it yet. But don't worry, I won't tell a soul. We'll keep this between us, yeah? See ya around." Alex had waved, giving Mickey another one of his smug smiles before turning on his heel and exiting Mickey's room, like he hadn't just turned Mickey's whole world upside down, and taken something from him he'd never get back.

Mickey had done his best to put the whole interaction out of his mind. Alex getting locked up had helped, but now that he was right up in Mickey's face again, all those old thoughts and gross feelings were back.

Mickey's had sex with guys since then. He did his own bid in juvie not long after that shit with Alex had gone down. But Mickey hasn't taken it since. He does the fucking. He'll never allow himself to be that vulnerable.

So yeah, Mickey's fucking gay. Doesn't mean he's a pussy or a fucking push over. No one's ever going to take advantage of him like that ever again. He's in charge.

And he's never gonna fuck another guy outside of jail. It's not like he won't spend most of his life there anyway. Mickey's a lot of things, but he's not stupid. He knows what his life is going to look like.

It's a grim picture, but it is what it is.

As he watches Alex move around the room, not even sparring Mickey a glance, Mickey turns back to the pile of coke on the table, grabbing up the bill again and leaning over a newly cut line.

The new year hasn't even started yet, and Mickey's already certain it's going to be shit.

 

***

 

Ian's never been to a party like this before. On his way down here, he was certain he was grown enough for a party like this, but looking around the room right now, he's never felt more like a child.

There are people everywhere, booze everywhere, drugs everywhere. Someone broke up a fist fight in the dining room just as Ian crossed the threshold with Lip and Josh. Ian's eyes widen as he takes in the fresh pool of blood on the floor from Petey Anderson's broken nose. He watches Jenny fall to her knees with a hand towel, screaming at the top of her lungs for everyone to calm the fuck down.

Petey and Alan Waters, who had apparently started the fight, were tossed out on their asses by some kids from the football team and the party had gotten back on track before Ian could even get his first beer.

It's crazy how things can go from zero to a hundred and back again in a matter of seconds in this neighborhood.

Ian leans up against a wall in the far corner of the living room, Lip on his left and Josh on his right. The close proximity of his crush has Ian feeling giddy and off-kilter. Lip and Josh are talking about girls again. It's all they ever talk about. Ian hates it, kind of. He plays along, nodding when Lip talks about Myra Benson's ass, or Karen Jackson's tits. Even though Ian couldn't give a shit about those girls' bodies, and he thinks they're both bitches anyway.

Ian lets his eyes wander around the room. It really does seem like everyone in the whole neighborhood is at this party. He sees jocks, fucking junior debate kids, goth kids. Gangbangers and the kids who get their asses beat every day. It seems like some kind of temporary armistice has been reached, since usually there would be fists flying. And Ian hasn't seen a single fight since the first one when they arrived almost an hour ago.

"Hey now, lookie there..." Josh grins lecherously, his eyes on someone on the other side of the room.  Ian cranes his neck over the gyrating crowd of teens dancing in the middle of the room as he takes a sip of his third beer of the night. He turns his head one way and then the other trying to see who Josh is talking about.

On the other side of the room is a petite girl in a short pleated skirt and ripped, skin tight t shirt. You'd think it was summer and not the end of fucking December with the way she was dressed. Her tits were out on full display, her shirt lowcut enough that Ian could see the center of her chest. She had dark hair, black almost, with hot pink highlights streaking through the tresses. She had on dark eyeshadow and black lipstick. Her eyes were bright blue, standing out in stark contrast to her pale skin and dark hair.

Mandy Milkovich.

"What about her?" Ian asked, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach.

"She's hot as fuck is what." Josh laughed. "And I heard she's easy."

"She's hot, if you're into that hoodrat prostitute-in-training look." Lip chuckled. Ian turned to level his brother with a glare.

"Do you have to be such a dick?" Ian asked, rolling his eyes as his brother chuckled. "You don't even know her, no need to call her a hooker." Ian doesn't really know Mandy all that well, but he doesn't like it when his brother talks about girls that way.  All misogynistic and judgmental. Lip is probably the biggest slut Ian knows, so it's kinda hypocritical.

"It's not like I'm lying, Ian. Everyone knows that girl is fucking easy. What are you, her god damn lawyer?" Lip chuckled, taking a sip of his third beer.

"Whatever." Ian huffed. It's not like he was going to change his brother's mind.

"You guys can work this out between yourselves, I'm going in." Josh chuckled, pushing his fingers through his hair as he left the brothers in their corner and sauntered over to Mandy.

She was in the middle of a conversation with two other girls in Ian's grade. Lexi Mathers and Bess Lauder. The three of them looked like a trashy version of Charlie's Angels, done up like they were going to work a street corner, and not ring in the new year with other high school freshman.

Not that Ian was one to judge. Let them dress however they want, it didn't matter to him.

It was having the desired effect, it seemed, anyway. The three girls were surrounded by boys, all practically salivating over them. Ian watched, dejected, as Josh rolled up on the group and grabbed Mandy around the waist, pulling her to his chest and maneuvering them toward the makeshift dancefloor in the center of the room.

And that's the way it goes around the south side. Ian can be the best person he can be, but no one will ever see him the way he wants to be seen. Guys like Josh will never notice Ian, never want Ian. He is doomed to forever play out scenes like this right here. Watching the boy he loves grinding on some random neighborhood girl, while Ian pines his heart out pressed against the tacky wood paneling of a house he doesn't belong in.

Ian sighs, his eyes burning. He's not going to cry, fuck that. He's not a baby. He's gonna sack the fuck up and get over it.

It's getting closer and closer to midnight, and Ian finds he's not nearly as excited for the new year as he thought he'd be.

 

***

 

Mickey's fucking wasted. More wasted than he's been in a long time, and that's saying something.

He glances at the clock in the corner as he takes a drag off a cigarette he stole from a passed-out Mark. Kid can't hang for shit, he's been knocked out for over an hour now. Pussy. Mickey inhales deeply, casting his eyes around the room.

The closer it gets to midnight, the crazier the party gets, which is kinda impressive, considering it's been mayhem for hours now.

Mickey watches his sister grinding on that asshole Josh Newton. Kid's a fucking tool, and Mickey's kicked his ass on more than one occasion.

If he doesn't watch where he's putting his hands, Mickey has a feeling history's going to repeat himself.

Mickey's about to go over there and snap Josh's wandering hand of his stringy little arm when his eyes catch on someone across the room.

Fucking Gallagher. Not Lip, who Mickey has three classes with, (not that he goes all that much) but the other one. That scrawny ginger motherfucker. Ian. Ian Gallagher. Mickey's eyes the kid critically, wondering what the hell a kid that young is doing at a party like this.

Well, Mickey brought his baby sister, who is dry humping that Josh prick in the middle of the room now, so maybe Mickey's can't really judge who's too young to be at the party.

Mickey sips his beer, watching Ian watching Josh and Mandy on the dancefloor. The kid looks miserable, like nothing will ever be right in the world again. It kinda bums Mickey out, which is weird. He usually couldn't give a shit about how anyone else feels.

He must be pretty wasted.

But the redheaded Gallagher kid just looks so sad, so angry. Mickey can't help but feel bad for him, which is yet another strange feeling. Ian looks like a kicked puppy, and Mickey inexplicably wants to make him feel better.

He doesn't move to do anything, of course. What the fuck could Mickey even do to lift Ian's mood? What words could he say to change a damn thing? Mickey can't even do shit to make himself feel better.

Besides, walking up to Ian in the middle of a crowded house party and starting a conversation would be too suspicious. Of course, talking to another guy doesn't automatically make you look gay. But strolling up to a random, cute little kid like some kind of pedo off 'To Catch a Predator' would make him look like a creep, and a fag, and Mickey can't afford that.

He's horrified to find he might just have some kind of affection for the alien looking little freak. The thought chills Mickey to his bones. No, just no. He hasn't let himself crush on another guy since that shit show with Alex. And he's not gonna start now with some pipsqueak little Irish kid with an abnormally wide smile.

Besides, the way Ian's glaring daggers at that Josh prick right now just proves that Ian's got a baby boner for his little sister, and Mickey would never stand a chance even if he grew a set of gay balls and did something about it.

Fuck it. Who gives a shit. Mickey knows the drill. He is well versed in the art of hiding his true feelings and standing still when all he wants to do is move.  He does his best to put it out of his mind as the clock ticks closer and closer to midnight.

"C'mon, Milkovich, time's a'waistin'." Mark chuckles, seemingly recovered from his mini-coma. He motions toward Mickey's coke with the dollar bill before passing it to Mickey. He pulls himself out of his Gallagher-induced daze, plucking the bill from Mark's hand and leaning over the table.

There's really nothing else for him to do.

 

***

 

Ian's seething. He's pissed the fuck off. At his brother, for ditching him to grind on some skanky looking junior he doesn't know. Angry with Josh for being straight and unattainable and practically fucking Mandy Milkovich right in front of him.  But most of all he's mad at himself. For being different, for being gay. For falling in love with someone who will never love him back, someone who will never see him as anything more than the dorky little brother of his friend.

He's mad at the world, for being so unfair. For singling him out over something that's not his choice, not his fault. He's mad that he's been made to feel that he's less than, or defective, just because he likes other boys instead of girls.

He's mad at everything and everyone, and he regrets coming to this party more than he's regretted doing anything.  Ever.

Someone turns off the music, and the sounds of the Time Square countdown start bleeding out of the boxy TV at the far end of the room. All the assembled kids gather around the TV as the last of 2009 winds down.

Ian pushes himself further into the corner, a tall glass of straight vodka in his hand as he watches the party go on around him. He feels desperately alone, and he has a sinking feeling that is going to be the norm for him for quite some time. The more he has to hide who he is, the more isolated he will become.

He tries to drown out his negative thoughts with more booze, watching the other kids whooping and hollering as Ryan Secrest countdown to 2010. He chugs his glass as everyone else starts screaming, counting backwards from ten.

He watches sadly as his brother cheers along with his friends. He watches, sadder still as Josh wraps and arm around Mandy Milkovich, his other arm high in the air, fist pumping. He's so focused on Josh's arm around Mandy, he doesn't even notice someone else is watching him...

 

Mickey is still seated on the couch, rubbing his sore nose as his latest lines winds its way into his blood stream.

There are exactly four seconds left to 2009. Mickey doesn't bother to get up, doesn't want to dance around like an asshole with the rest of these stupid pricks. He certainly doesn't wanna shove his tongue down some random skank's throat. He cast his eyes around the crowded room, watching everyone make total fools of themselves as the last seconds of the year slip by.

There is only one other person in the room who looks as miserable as he feels.

Ian is standing in the corner of the living room, chugging a glass of clear liquor. Vodka, gin, whatever.

Mickey watches him, head cocked to the side as the room erupts into even louder yelling.

"Three!!!!, Two!!! One!!! Happy New Year!!!" the crowd bellows, everyone embracing, sucking face, whatever. Mickey barely notices, he's so fixated on Ian.

The kids looks like he's on the verge of tears. Mickey can empathize, he feels that way more often than not. He wonders for a second what could be so wrong in Ian's life that it would bring him to tears at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve.

Mickey shakes his head, grabbing his discarded dollar bill, leaning over the table for another line.

It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Nothing will ever matter. It didn't matter last year, and it won't this year. Ian's problems are none of his business, and never will be. He needs to get his head straight, and remember his place.

Happy new year? Sure, okay.....

 

 

New Year's Eve, 2011

 

 

Ian looks around his living room, his face split into a wide, crazed smile. He's wasted, that much is clear. He usually doesn't get this fucked up. Having parents like Frank and Monica makes him nervous to indulge too much. But he's not a baby anymore, he's fifteen. And it's fucking New Year's Eve, so he's gonna relax and have some fun.

Fiona doesn't know Lip's got coke. She'd probably throw a shit fit, even though she does it too, when the opportunity arises.

She probably wouldn't notice anyway, it's well after 11 already, and Fiona is about six drinks in. Ian watches her swaying drunkenly in front of the TV with Vee as they grind on each other to a Rhianna song Ian doesn't know the name of. Karen and Lip are making out by the staircase and Ian rolls his eyes, a little bit disgusted. He doesn't know what Karen is to Lip, but Ian doesn't like her. The fact that she knows his secret probably doesn't help the wary feeling. Ian's still pissed at Lip for pulling that shit. What did he hope to accomplish by having his fuck buddy blow Ian? Was Ian going to suddenly realize that he's not gay after all? Were years of him being attracted to broad chests and thick cocks going to go away because some blond slut put her mouth on him?

He has no idea how someone as smart as Lip could be so stupid.

It's not like Ian is confused. It's not like he doesn't know what he likes. He's had sex. Plenty of sex. All with men. He likes it and he's good at it. He knows who he is, even if Lip is not convinced yet and nobody else knows.

Well, that's not quite true either. Mandy knows. They became friends in a fucked up way, but Ian doesn't know what he'd do without her. A fake rape allegation has never had a better outcome, if you ask Ian.

And Ian can also trace the most interesting recent development in his life to Mandy.

Mickey.

Ian's got a whole other set of conflicting feelings about Mickey, but the most overwhelming emotion he feels when he thinks about the blue eyed Milkovich boy is excitement. Mickey is crass and rude and mean as a fucking snake. But he's also funny and smart in a weird way. And sexy as all fuck. Ian's still got his little thing going on with Kash, but in the month since he started up with Mickey, his affection for Kash has started steadily declining. He's just not that into his boss anymore.

But he doesn't know how to end it without losing his job or worse. His family needs the money he brings in working at the Kash & Grab. So he can see no way out of his illicit affair with his boss.

That doesn't really change anything though. He's still enthralled with Mickey, even though the other boy doesn't give him much to work with. They've only hooked up a handful of times since that first time with the crowbar.

Ian thinks about that all the time. It was so unexpected, and ridiculously hot. Ian still jerks off thinking about it all these weeks later. Mickey on his hands and knees, ass swaying, just waiting for Ian. The way Mickey's back flexed when Ian pushed into him. The way he bit his fist to keep quiet when Ian hit it just right. Fuck. It was the most erotic thing to ever happen to Ian in his short life, and ever since then he's been hooked.

He knows Mickey doesn't feel the same way. The other boy has made it perfectly clear on numerous occasions that he's not interested in Ian beyond his dick. Ian's trying to be okay with that. He's trying to insulate his heart as best he can. He's trying not to get too attached, trying not to fall too deep.

It's a battle Ian's almost positive he's already lost. He likes Mickey, a lot. Even if he could never explain why to another person.

As Ian lifts himself up off the couch, beer in hand, and heads toward the stairs, he wonders where Mickey is tonight, and if he's thinking of Ian at all.

Ha. Fat fucking chance....

 

***

 

Mickey has Ginger Radley pinned up against the sink in the bathroom at Mark Even's New Year's Eve party. He doesn't really want to be fucking this girl. He doesn't even wanna be at this party.

But he knows how this shit goes. He knows what's expected of him. And once he and Iggy rolled up to Mark's house, Mickey knew he'd have to put on a show. Not like that's anything new to him. His whole life is one big lie. No, that's not right. It's a mangled, tangled knot of lie upon lie, snaking around each other so tightly that even he can't tell what the truth is anymore.

So when Iggy asked him to tag along to this party, Mickey knew he had to go. He had to make an appearance, had to show the neighborhood who the Milkovichs were. So he followed his brother to Mark's house, talked a bunch of shit, puffed his chest out. Punched Scotty Tesla in his stupid face when he wouldn't stop running his mouth. He also did a shit ton of shots, blew some coke, and just dropped some E not too long ago.

Might as well be as numb as possible for this shit show.

Now he was in the middle of completing his carefully choreographed act. Ginger was a girl from the neighborhood. He's been fucking her on and off for years. Purely casual. She's an okay chick, doesn't talk too much, never gives Mickey a hard time, or ask him too many personal questions. She just drops her pants when Mickey asks her to, and never gives him shit when it takes a minute for his dick to get with the program. She's pretty enough, Mickey supposes, with big tits and flowing red hair.

Mickey's recently discovered he's got a thing for red heads.

Of course, the red head he really wants doesn't have big tits. He's got a huge cock. And he's not here right now.

Mickey pinches his eyes shut, his fingers digging into the meat of Ginger's hips as he thrusts. She's making these weird, annoying noises. Whiny little grunts, keening cries. Mickey tries to tune it out the best he could, focusing on the end goal here.

He's suddenly hit with the devastating realization that this is his life. Will always be his life. He can't escape it, not as long as his father's alive. The idea of coming out as a fag is synonymous with shooting himself in the head as far as Mickey's concerned.

He forgets, sometimes, when he's with Ian. Forgets that he's fucked for life, that he'll never be happy. He forgets for just a moment that he's going to live this lie forever.

He's still a fucking liar, though. Hell, he still lies to Ian all the time. Even though he's more open with Ian than pretty much anyone, that doesn't really mean much. It's still all half-truths and misdirection. He can't tell Ian how he really feels. That he likes him, likes fucking him. That he likes to be around him, more than pretty much anyone. He has to keep up his tough Milkovich facade, has to keep everyone at arm's length. Even Ian. Fuck, especially Ian. The closer he wants to get to Ian, the more he needs to push him away.

It's the only way Mickey's going to survive. He feels a surge of emotion swelling in his chest. Sadness and longing and desperation. He feels trapped. In this room, inside this girl, in his life....

Shit, this E is hitting him hard. Fuck.

Ginger cries out, her back arching, and Mickey suddenly remembers he's in the middle of a sex act.

Ha, he's fucked up.

"Yeah, yeah." Ginger mumbles, her head flying back as her body tightens around Mickey's cock. Did she come? Mickey can't tell. He knows nothing about the female orgasm, really doesn't give all that much of a shit. He pinches his eyes shut tight, focusing as hard as his addled brain will allow on finally busting a nut.

His mind wanders as he nears the end. He's rollin' hard now, and doesn't bother to chastise himself for thinking of Ian when he's fucking someone else, like he usually would. He thinks of Ian's tight body and big hands as he stills deep inside Ginger and comes. He sighs quietly, pulling out and stepping back. He grips his dick around the base, using the fingers on his free hand to pull the used condom off, tossing it in the trash by the toilet.

Ginger turns, pulling her pants back up and giving Mickey a sly little grin. "Man, this E is killer, huh Mickey?" she giggles.

"You did some too?" Mickey asks, tucking his dick away and moving to the sink to wash the girl stink off his hands.

"Yeah, Billy's handing that shit out like fucking candy. Wait 'til his dad found out he stole his supply. The pigs are gonna find Billy's body down by the river, mark my words."

Mickey chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, you're probably right."

Ginger giggles again, moving to open the door so they can return to the party.

But Mickey's got other ideas. A thought he just can't shake. Something he's gotta do.

"Okay, happy new year, Mickey. See ya around." Ginger smirks at Mickey over her shoulder as she makes her way out of the bathroom. Ginger's a decent chick. If Mickey has to fuck girls, he's at least happy it's someone like Ginger. No expectations, no trying to make it more than what it is. Just fuck and go. Decent arrangement, things being the way they are.

"Sure, happy new year, G." Mickey nods, his mind elsewhere already.

He follows her out of the bathroom and makes a bee line for the front door. He grabs his jacket off a chair in the living room, totally oblivious to the chaos going on around him at the party as he opens the door and slips onto the street and into the chilly winter night.

 

***

 

Ian inhales deeply, the coke flying down his nose and into his bloodstream. He tips his head back with a smile, reaching blindly for his beer when he hears it.

A muted thud against his bedroom window.

Ian's eyes fly open and his head whips toward the window. How fucked up is he? Is hear hearing shit? Are auditory hallucinations part of doing coke? Ian's not sure, he doesn't research the drugs he does.

Everyone is downstairs, the house is practically shaking with the force of the party. It's so close to midnight right now, and everyone is pretty trashed at this point. No one even noticed when Ian slunk upstairs for more white. Ian's mildly surprised Lip hasn't come back up yet, this shit wears off so fast and Ian just wants more and more. But Lip's more of a drinker than a druggie, so he hasn't been doing nearly as much as Ian has.

There's another bang on the window, a much larger rock hitting the glass, and Ian is dragged out of his racing thoughts and brought back into the moment.

There is for sure someone outside his window. There's no way he's that paranoid. He climbs up on the bed on his knees, tilting his head so he can see through the glare of the window glass.

No fucking way.

Mickey's outside. Mickey Milkovich is standing outside his window. He's in that adorably oversized grey winter coat, shuffling from foot to foot as he smokes a cigarette, head tipped up as he stares right back at Ian.

Ian's face breaks out into a wide, probably psychotic looking smile as his fingers curl around the base of the window. He throws the sash up, leaning his body out. It's cold outside, and the chilly air hits him like a truck.

"Mick?" Ian whisper-shouts. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Happy new year to you too, asshole." Mickey smirks up at him. "You gonna let me in, or am I gonna stand out here with my dick in my hand when the ball drops?"

Ian grins, nodding quickly before turning his back on Mickey and jumping off his bed. He rips the door open and flies down the back stairs.

No one even notices when Ian stomps into the kitchen. He glances over his shoulder before opening the door. The living room is full of bodies, all dancing and jumping around as Cypress Hill blares out of their cheap stereo. No one is paying Ian any mind at all, so he flings the door open with a breathless smile.

Mickey grins back at him, stepping across the threshold and into the house. The Gallagher house is hot, after walking a block in the winter cold. The heat hits Mickey's cool skin, his body instantly breaking out in waves of shivers. The E he took back at the house party has got his body feeling all kinds of strange ways. His stomach is tight, his skin tingly and extra sensitive, and he's hit with the overwhelming desire to take his clothes off.

"Hey Gallagher." Mickey smiles. He knows his smile is too wide, his eyes too bright. But Ian looks just as fucked up, if not more, so Mickey's hoping Ian won't notice how trashed he is.

Now, if Mickey could just play it cool, everything would be fine.

He almost blows it when he leans in a little too close. His face is centimeters from Ian's, and the desire to kiss him is so strong. Mickey almost does it, but he holds onto that last tiny bit of control he has left, instead leaning over to whisper in Ian's ear. "Let's ring this new year in right." before gripping him by his belt and dragging him up the back stairs.

Mickey glances over his shoulder as he turns toward the staircase, relieved to find that no one even noticed he arrived.

Mickey's not even sure if Ian's family even knows they've been hanging out. The idea of them knowing makes him very nervous, but he's too fucked up to worry about it at the moment. He'll worry about that once the sun comes up.

Right now, he's got a singular focus.

They make it to Ian's room, Mickey kicking the door closed behind him, grabbing up the kitchen chair by the desk and wedging it under the doorknob so no one can bust in unexpectedly. When he turns back around, Ian is already naked, laying on the bed, stroking his cock.

"Can't believe you came tonight."

Mickey shakes his head, smiling. "Haven't yet, but I'm gonna." There's no way he'd be saying that shit if he wasn't rollin'. Hell, he wouldn't even be at Ian's house right now if he weren't wasted. But he doesn't give a fuck. Not right now, anyway.

Ian barks out a laugh, motioning for Mickey to join him on the bed. Mickey stumbles toward Ian's tiny bed, pulling his shirt up over his head and tossing it behind his back along the way.

"Pants too, c'mon." Ian whines, hand stilling on his dick as he watches Mickey with hungry eyes.

Mickey can tell Ian's fucked up. Drunk, probably high too. His eyes catch on a small plate on the dresser, white powder sprinkled across the ceramic.

Coke. Ian's doing coke.

Mickey's not sure why that makes him sad. Must be the drugs in Mickey's own system fucking him up. Turning him into a sentimental bitch. He doesn't want all that for Ian. The drugs, the violence. The shit of this neighborhood shouldn't stain Ian like it stains everyone else Mickey knows.

Ian's got plans. Fucking dreams. He's supposed to get out of this shithole.

"What's with this?" Mickey asks, dropping his pants and boxer in a puddle on the floor before pointing toward the plate, eyebrows raised. Ian's unfocused eyes land on the plate and he shrugs as best he can from his reclined position.

"It's a party."

"I can see that." Mickey replies warily. He's got all kinds of fucked up feeling swimming in his head. Concern for Ian, lust for Ian, the desire to get as far away from Ian as possible and never look back.

Mickey doesn't want to taint Ian with the shit that's splattered all over him. Mickey's dirty. Literally and figuratively.

And he doesn't want any of that to touch Ian.

But he's here now, and Ian is hard and ready, so Mickey's gonna worry about that shit another day.

He crawls onto the bed, shoving Ian to the side so he can get onto his hands and knees. He may be totally faced right now, but he's not fucked up enough to do some stupid shit like kiss Ian or let Ian fuck him face to face.

"C'mon." he grunts, wiggling his ass impatiently as Ian moves to kneel behind him.

"Don'tcha want me to stretch you first?" Ian asks dumbly, reaching for the lube on the nightstand.

"Fuck that. I'm high as a kite, won't feel a thing." Mickey grumbles, not wanting to talk at the moment. He wants Ian inside him. He's wanted Ian all night, and now that it's happening, he can't think of anything else. "Just fucking do it."

Ian nods, even though Mickey can't see him. He pops open the lube, slathering his dick generously before rubbing some along Mickey's rim like a gentleman.

Once they're both slippery with the stuff, Ian wipes his wet fingers on the sheets and grips Mickey's hip with his free hand, guiding himself home with the other.

 It burns, but Mickey's whole body relaxes into the stretch, and he feels like he can breathe for the first time that whole night. Being with Ian like this is like coming up for air. He feels so free, so open when Ian fucks him. It's fucking beautiful.

Ian is groaning behind him, pawing his hips possessively as he rolls his hips. "Fuck, Mick. Feels so good."

"Yeah. Mickey nods, bucking into Ian's movements. "Wanted this all night." the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, but he finds he doesn't wanna take them back. Not yet, anyway.

Maybe when he's sober, he'll regret it.

"Yeah?" Ian laughs, pounding Mickey's ass harder at the other boy's admission. "Me too. Me fucking too." Ian reaches up, tangling his fingers in Mickey's dark hair, pulling his head back hard. Mickey grunts, and Ian grins to himself, pulling just that much harder.

Ian's mind is going a mile a minute, and it's all MICKEY. The feel of him, his fucking smell. How good he takes Ian's dick. His smile, his voice, the way his hair feels between Ian's fingers. The way his arms flex as he fists the sheets. The way his knuckles are always bloody and scabbed up, making his tattoos hard to read. It all coalesces into this tragically beautiful being kneeling before him on his stupid tiny bed. Down on his elbows, ass high in the air, sweat dotting his gorgeous pale skin.

Mickey is stunning.

"C'mon. C'mon." Mickey urges, throwing his hips back wildly. "Fuckin' fuck me."

Ian chuckles breathlessly, redoubling his efforts. Mickey is mouthy tonight, that's new.

Mickey's not sure how long it goes on for. Drugs like coke and E make it hard to come. And Mickey already came once tonight. Thoughts of Ginger try to push to the front of his mind, but he pushes them back, focusing solely on the way Ian's cock feels inside him.

Ian's a moaning, sweaty mess, his hands sliding up and down Mickey's slick back and sides. Ian leans over and nips gently at Mickey's shoulder, his hips pressed tightly against Mickey's ass as he thrusts into him shallowly, applying delicious pressure to his prostate in the process.

Mickey can feel it curling inside him. It feels like his orgasm tingles its way up from his fucking toes, overtaking his whole body in an explosion of white-hot electricity.

"Fuck." Mickey chokes out, surprised. "I'm gonna come."

Ian laughs again. Mickey's never heard him laugh so much during sex. "Go ahead, I'm right behind you."

Just then the house erupts into a raucous countdown. Everyone downstairs is screaming, counting backwards from ten as the new year descends upon them.

Ian leans over, mouth panting by Mickey's ear as his long fingers wrap around his cock. "Three." he whispers.

"Don't you do it." Mickey chuckles, groaning when Ian hits inside him just right.

"Two." Ian replies, smile evident in his voices as his body starts to tighten up.

"I'm serious." Mickey moans, so fucking close himself.

"One." Ian replies hoarsely, stilling his hips as he fills Mickey with his release.

"Asshole." Mickey laughs through a groan as he comes hard all over Ian's hand.

"Happy new year, Mick." Ian whispers, flicking his tongue along Mickey's shoulder before pulling out and dropping down on the mattress, folding his hands behind his head.

The house goes wild with the screams of all the people downstairs, the celebration shaking the foundation. It's officially 2012.

Not that Mickey anticipates much changing....

"Yeah, whatever." Mickey shrugs, planting his feet on the cluttered floor and reaching for his pants.

"Going already?" Ian asks, his head cocked to the side in confusion.

"Yeah dude." Mickey nods, pulling his t shirt over his head. He's got to get out of there before he does something stupid like open his fucking mouth. He's still rollin', like a lot. And he's hit with the horrifyingly overwhelming desire to talk to Ian.

Like, really talk to Ian.

He wants to tell him everything. How much he likes him, how fucking terrified he is that he likes him. How he wishes he didn't care at all. How he's certain he's going to be a fuck up for the rest of his life. How he knows Ian's too good for him, how he doesn't want Ian to waste any more time on him, but can't stomach the idea of letting him go.

He wants to say all that shit and more. So he does the only thing he can think of. He slips his coat on and moves to open the door. He slides the chair out from under the door knob, turning to wave to Ian before he leaves.

Ian is laying on the bed in his underwear, staring up at the ceiling. His eyes are glassy, and he looks utterly stricken. Mickey's heart breaks, and he wants so bad to fucking fix it, but he can't.

"Happy new year, Gallagher." Mickey mumbles, like an idiot.

"Yeah, Mick." Ian replies quietly, turning on his side so his back is to Mickey. "Whatever you say."

Mickey sighs, and not even the drugs in his system can quell the sadness he feels as he trudges down the stairs and through the Gallagher kitchen, then back into the dark night.

As Mickey makes his way back home alone in the cold, he can't help but think this year is gonna be bullshit, just like every fucking year of his life since he was born.

 

***

 

New Year's Eve, 2014

 

The club lights are harsh, burning Mickey's eyes as he sips his whiskey with a scowl on his face.

He hates this shit. He doesn't understand what Ian gets out of it. He's so smart, could do anything he wants, and this is how he chooses to make his money. Grinding his ass on pruny old queens' laps for crusty dollar bills and a little coke. It's just so not like Ian, so fucking out of character.

Ian hasn't been the same since he got back from the army.

But Mickey's in no position to say any of that shit to Ian. He just got him back, and he's not gonna rock the fucking boat. Mickey had really thought when Ian ran away that that was it. He'd never see Ian again, he'd fucked up so bad that Ian had ran away from home just to put distance between himself and Mickey.

That shit hurt, probably more than anything Mickey had ever been through, and that was really saying something. But it was all Mickey's fault, like most things are. Mickey was the one that was stupid enough to fuck Ian in his living room, in the middle of the day, which started this whole mess. Terry, the beating they both took. Fucking Svetlana and her god damn baby. The wedding, Ian's disappearing act.  All of that was on Mickey. It was his house they got caught in. It was his father that beat his boyfriend. It was his father that almost killed him, forced him to fuck that bitch. Marry her.

Mickey downs the rest of his glass, feeling that familiar rage building inside him. Everything is always so far out of his control. He can't make his own choices, he can't have his own life. He's got a father that wants him dead, a wife he hates, pregnant with a baby he never wanted and a boyfriend that would rather cut and run than be with Mickey.

All this shit is Mickey fault.

He shakes his head forcing his way through the nasty sweaty bodies as he descends on the bar.

"Jack and coke." he calls over the cacophony of noise in the crowded club. The fruity fag behind the bar gives him a flirty wink, nodding his head, and Mickey rolls his eyes. He drops some money down on the bar top and turns back toward the stage while he waits.

Ian is the only thing he ever sees in this place and tonight is no different.

Ian is up on a black box, painted in blue lights. He's wearing a skin-tight pair of blue booty shorts, so small that the fabric barely covers his bulge. Mickey can see men fawning all over him, even all the way across the room. Gross old dudes putting their hands on his man. But there is nothing Mickey can do about that either. He's already on thin ice in this place for almost breaking a dude's hand when he tried to grab Ian's cock one night last week. The bouncers put him on notice, so now he has to be on his best behavior. Which is a joke in a cumbucket place like this. The place is a drug den with blowjobs on the side, but they're gonna crawl up Mickey's ass for getting a little rough with some perverted old fairy with wandering hands?

Whatever. Mickey tries to put all that shit out of his mind as he watches Ian rolling his hips on the stage. It's New Year's Eve, and the first one they've spent together in a couple years. So Mickey's going to do his best to push all that stupid shit out of his head and focus on the fact that he's here with Ian. Ian wants him here. Ian wants him.

For now.

 

***

 

Ian feels like he's fucking flying.

The pounding base of the throbbing house music shakes him to his very bones. He can feel his heartbeat syncing up with the music, his whole body thrumming with it.

It's amazing.

Ian cast his eyes around the crowded room. There's only fifteen minutes left to 2014, but Ian's going on break right after this song. And he knows how he wants to ring in the new year.

He can see Mickey leaning up against the bar, watching him with those hungry eyes of his. Ian never tires of that look. Mickey looks at him like there is no one else in the room, like he'd cut the throat of every man in the building if Ian asked him to. Mickey looks at Ian like he fucking loves him.

That's all Ian ever wanted.

Before Ian's life went completely off the rails, he never thought he'd get that from Mickey. But Ian showed him. Sure, he had to run away to do it, but he got what he wanted.

Mickey is his now. Not fucking Terry's or Svetlana's. Ian's. Only Ian's. And that thought alone is enough to get Ian hard as a rock.

Ian proved that shit after Svetlana's little powerplay a couple weeks ago. When she accosted Ian in the shower like some kind of commie assassin. Spouting her stupid Russian mouth off about how Ian didn't belong in the house.

Didn't belong with Mickey.

Sure, Ian left. But Mickey fucking followed him. And if that right there doesn't prove who Mickey wants, who Mickey loves, then nothing ever will.

So Ian's feeling pretty proud of himself at the moment. Proud of Mickey too. It's the first step in them having a real relationship.

There's so much Ian wants to do with Mickey now that they are together finally. He wants to travel, see the world. He wants to help Mickey raise his baby, when it's finally born. He wants to get their own place, maybe take the kid on weekends. It's not the baby's fault his mother's a cumdumpster whore. Maybe they can take the kid to Disney World. Yeah, that would be awesome. Get Mickey some of those mouse ears. Oh shit, that would be epic.

Ian's mind is off and running, planning out an elaborate cross-country trip. All the places they'll go, all the things they see. He jumps when he feels fingers on his waist, but when he looks down, it's just Embry, one of his regulars, slipping a fifty into his shorts. Ian gives him a filthy smirk, rolling his hips right in Embry's face, brushing his cock against the other's man's nose.

Embry grins up at him, moving forward, mouth open, when a tattooed hand clamps down on the customer's shoulder, ripping him away from Ian's junk and sending him stumbling backwards.

Ian rolls his eyes, smiling. He's always known Mickey was a little jealous, and it's kind of a turn on to see him being so possessive.

Mickey's got nothing to worry about, obviously. Sure, Ian let Embry blow him the other night, but it's easy money, and Ian is horny like, all the time these days. He can't fuck Mickey enough, he always wants more. Mickey is often too sore or tried to give Ian what he needs. So Ian gets it at work, and gets paid for it.

Win win, really.

But Ian's sure Mickey jealous ass wouldn't see it that way, even if Ian uses some of that money to buy Mickey's unborn baby clothes and shit.

"Step the fuck off, Mary." Mickey growls, getting right up in Embry's face. "What did I tell you about putting your faggy fingers on my man's cock?"

Embry blanches, taking a step back, hands up. "I wasn't..." he stammered.

"Then tell me what your queer fucking lipstick is doing on his pecker, you prick?" Mickey shot back, pointing at Ian's tiny shorts.

Ian glances down at his junk, and sure enough, in the bright lights of the club he sees the faint outline of Embry's black lipstick on his junk.

"I, uh, I...." Embry shoots a panicked glance between Ian and Mickey, his mouth flapping like a moron.

"That's what I thought." Mickey replied, taking a threatening step forward. "I see that shit again, and I'm gonna bust every tooth outta your fat fucking head. Then you'll be giving gummy hummers for the rest of your miserable life. Got me?"

Embry nodded jerkily, hands up, backing away and melting into the crowd.

Ian rolled his eyes, jumping off his box. The song was over and Ian was on his break. "You can't keep doing that to my regulars, Mick."

"Then stop letting those faggots put their nasty fucking hands all over you. What do you expect?"

Ian smiles, shaking his head. He moves toward Mickey, but Mickey backs up a step, still wary of being too close, even in a place like this.

It's a hang up Mickey can't quite shake. Kissing in public. He's working on it, though. He's fucking trying.

He just hopes Ian is willing to wait. Ian's been really patient with Mickey during his whole coming out process. Giving him time and space to get it together, but pushing him when he needs it.

He wants to kiss Ian. He just can't do it in a room full of tweaked out faggots.

Not yet anyway.

But Mickey's fucking trying, which is more than he'd ever thought he'd do.

The shit he does for Ian, honestly.

Ian is giving him that look, half exasperated, half fond. He reaches down and grabs Mickey's wrist, dragging him toward the bathroom at the back of the club. Mickey glances down at his wrist, at a watch he stole of some hopped up service top who had been trying to bang him all night, before getting kicked out for puking on one of Ian's coworkers.

Ten minutes to midnight.

"C'mon Mick, I got my fifteen minute break." Ian shouts over the music, giving Mickey a dirty grin over his shoulder as he drags him toward the bathroom.

This is their usual routine for Ian's breaks. Mickey can't say he minds.

Ian shoves his way through the door, pulling Mickey in behind him. Sean, one of Ian's other coworkers is just coming out, pulling a dude along with him by his tie.

"All yours, Ian." Sean smirks, shooting Mickey a wink.

Mickey rolls his eyes, but doesn't say anything as he follows Ian into the bathroom. Ian drags him into the stall at the far end of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him and flicking the lock with his fingers. He turns and pulls Mickey to him by his hips.

"C'mere." Ian whispers against his lips, nipping at his bottom lip. "I've wanted you all night."

Mickey laughs into the kiss, pushing his tongue into Ian's mouth before leaning back to pin him with a playful glare. "We fucked twice back at the house before we even came down here."

"So what?" Ian grinned back, abandoning Mickey's mouth in favor of trailing wet kisses down the side of his neck. "I can't get enough. Besides, you made a promise."

Mickey pulled back again, glancing up at Ian, eyebrows raised. "That shit again?"

"You said...." Ian laughed, licking into Mickey's mouth languidly. "You'd suck my dick. Whenever I want. This is how I wanna ring in the new year. I'll fuck you so good when we get home. Make you fucking scream, Mick..."

Mickey groaned against Ian's mouth, his dick hardening in his jeans. Ian's always been a beast in the sack, but since he got back from his little sabbatical, he's been insatiable. Mickey's even had to turn him down once or twice, which has never happened in their entire relationship. Mickey's had to appease him with half-hearted handjobs at three in the morning just to get some fucking sleep.

It's not like Mickey doesn't like fucking Ian. He loves it. It's the best sex he's ever had. But his ass can only take so much, and one guy can only swallow so much cum before he gets sick.

But all that is irrelevant at the moment, because Ian wants him now, and Mickey wants to please him.

So Mickey pushes his worries about Ian's odd behavior to the side, dropping to his knees in front of his boyfriend. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of Ian's stupid booty shorts, pulling them down to his ankles. He feels Ian's fingers in his hair, and he groans, burying his face in Ian's fiery red pubes. Ian smells like sweat and the sex they had earlier. The scent gets Mickey so fucking hard.

Ian fists Mickey's hair hard as Mickey takes his hard cock in his hand and guides it to his open mouth. "Fuck, Mick." he whispers, watching his boyfriend's head bob.

Mickey smirks around Ian's dick, pulling his lips back so he can run his tongue around the head in slow circles, his eyes fixed on Ian's. Ian is looking down on him like he's everything. Like Mickey is all he'll ever want or need.

That look alone is sexier than any fuck they've ever had.

Mickey can hear the club going ballistic outside the bathroom door. The countdown has almost started, and the new year is coming quickly.

"Mickey. Jesus, just like that. You suck my cock so good."

Mickey preens at the praise, sucking harder, pulling faster.

He can hear the MC announcing it's almost time over the club's sound system, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care that they're missing the new year.

He wouldn't want to be anywhere else, or with anyone else.

He'd stay on his knees forever, if it meant he got to stay with Ian.

"Oh, shit." Ian moans as Mickey buries his face in his pubes. Ian's whole cock is resting in the back of Mickey's throat. Mickey relaxes his muscles, undulating his tongue along the underside of Ian's dick. He knows what that does to his boyfriend.

It works. Ian's hips buck, and he comes hard down Mickey's throat. Mickey works him through it before pulling off. He's breathing heavy as he grins up at his boyfriend, grabbing his stupid shorts and pulling them back up over his ass as he stands.

Ian laughs breathlessly as he pulls Mickey to him, kissing him hard. Just as Ian goes for Mickey's belt, the countdown starts.

The bar on the other side of the door is chaos, but all Mickey can focus on is Ian's hand on his cock and his mouth sucking a hickey on his collar bone.

"Happy new year, Mick. This year is gonna be amazing, just you wait."

Mickey just laughs through a moan as Ian jerks him toward orgasm.

Mickey's not sure Ian's right. Is this year going to be amazing? He's got a bad feeling. Something's not right, but he doesn't know what.

But he pushes that shit out of his mind, again, and instead focuses on Ian. His hand on his cock, his lips on his neck.

He lets his love for Ian bring in the new year, and as he shoots his load all over Ian's hand, he's hopeful that Ian's right, and that everything is gonna be just fine....

 

***

 

New Year's Eve, 2015

 

Fuck new year's.

What's even the point?

Mickey is scowling at the ceiling in his cell, feeling angry and out of control, which is pretty much the norm for him these days.

Mickey's been locked up for about a year and a half. It sucks. This is not juvie or jail, this is prison. Mickey's name means little in this place, and he's had to fight for his status more during this bid than he ever has in the past. But he did it. No one fucks with him anymore. It wasn't easy, and he spent a lot of time in the hole getting to that point. But it's better than the alternative: being some douchebag's bitch.

Now, Mickey's just existing. Once his newness wore off and people realized he wasn't an easy mark, Mickey just melted into the background. He slipped through the cracks, and now he's just another nameless, faceless convict. A number. H25881. That's all he is in this place.

He hasn't had a visitor in months. No one writes. No one picks up when he calls. It's like he died instead of got locked up.

Mickey isn't stupid. He doesn't expect the world to stop just because he's behind bars. But it's never been this bad before. He has no idea where Mandy is. He hasn't heard from Svetlana since his last stint in the hole, well before Thanksgiving.

And Ian, well...Ian has made it perfectly clear that he's done with Mickey for good. Mickey finds that almost funny. After everything they've been through, after everything Mickey did for Ian, it was an act of love that was their undoing.

A misguided, stupid, thoughtless act of love, but an act of love no less.

That bitch Sammi hurt Ian. There was no way Mickey was gonna let that slide. He doesn't regret it, but he does wish he'd gone about it differently.

When he first got locked up, Mickey had spent countless nights in his bunk, wondering what would be different if he'd never drugged that bitch. Would he and Ian have stayed broken up? Would they have worked through their shit somehow? Would Ian have stayed on his meds?

Mickey tries not to do that anymore. He tries not to think of Ian at all anymore. All it does is cause him pain.

Ian doesn't want him. Ian doesn't love him. Hell, Ian probably hasn't thought about Mickey once since their last visit.

Mickey rubs his tattoo absentmindedly over the dirty wifebeater he's wearing. What a momentous fuck up that was. He ended up in two fights over that fucking tattoo. Dudes only stopped coming at him over it when he broke some prick's jaw.

Whatever. Add it to the list of stupid shit he's done for Ian. Stupid shit that means nothing now, because Ian's gone and Mickey can't do shit about it.

Mickey looks up when he hears his celly moving around on the top bunk. Cole jumps down, giving Mickey a little grin.

"Sit up, gotcha a present."

Mickey rolls his eyes, but sits up. Cole is an okay dude. Doing a year for solicitation. Kid's such a fag is ridiculous. Mickey is his third cellmate since Cole’s bid started. Other guys weren't too keen on having such an effeminate guy as their celly.

Mickey kind of feels bad for him. He's thin and small, can't fight for shit. And he's got quite a crush on Mickey. Mickey doesn't discourage him, not really. Cole is useful in his own way, and he doesn't get on Mickey's nerves like his last celly did.

"Whadaya mean, present. It better not be like the last one." Mickey laughed, glancing down on the old watch on his wrist. Cole had somehow scored one of those old plastic watches you used to get in Happy Meals. The band was clear red plastic, and the fucking thing had Mickey Mouse ears. It has a little cartoon Mickey Mouse face with a cheap digital clock in the center, blinking 11:55 at the moment.

Mickey's sure the battery's going to die someday soon, but he probably won't throw it away when it does.

So what if he's turned into a bit of a sentimental bitch? He can't remember the last time anyone gave him a gift.

Cole just rolled his eyes, shooing Mickey with his hand. Mickey huffed, but sat up and pushed over so Cole could sit down next to him on his bunk.

Cole wasn't ugly. He was Mickey's height, but skinny in a way that only drugs will make you. Cole's drug of choice on the street was meth, and his teeth were pretty fucked up from smoking it for so many years. But he had a cute face and a decent body. Mousey brown hair and dull brown eyes. Nothing special.

But beggars can't be choosers. And as far a cell mates go, Cole is alright. He keeps his space and himself clean. He doesn't give Mickey shit and he minds his own business.

The sex is a plus too. Mickey's last fuck buddy was a Puerto Rican kid, Pablo. But that had been a pain in the ass, cuz the kid wasn't his cellmate. Fucking in the jail showers was not nearly as hot as porn would lead you to believe.

So this was convenient, and easy.

Mickey didn't feel one way or the other about Cole. It was just a way to pass the time.

"Happy new year." Cole smiled, reaching down to pull something out of his pant leg. Mickey leaned over the edge of the cot, curiosity getting the better of him.

Cole hiked up his uniform pants before pulling his sock down and producing a 20 oz water bottle. It was full of a thick orange liquid, and Mickey smiled.

"Where the fuck did you get that?" Mickey laughed, grabbing the pruno from his cellmate. Pruno was jailhouse wine. It was harsh shit, made with oranges and other random ingredients stolen from the kitchen. Shit was fucking nasty. Tasted like literal shit. But it got you seriously fucked up.

"Edwardo made it." Cole smirked. "Wanted to surprise you for new year's." Cole replied, shoving the bottle into Mickey's hand before moving to kneel on the floor in front of him. "I already drank mine." he giggled, fiddling with the hem of Mickey's prison issue boxers.

"What did you have to do to get this?" Mickey wondered, eyeing the bottle in his hand.

"Don't worry about it." Cole replied cryptically. Mickey wasn't an idiot. Nothing was free inside, and every gift Cole bestowed upon Mickey came at a price.

But what did it matter to Mickey? If Cole wanted spend his bid sucking dick for favors, who was Mickey to object?

Speaking of sucking dick, Cole had freed Mickey's soft cock from his boxers and was currently stroking him to full hardness. Mickey watched him work, twisting the cap off the bottle. He cringed as the smell of spoiled oranges hit his nose. He shrugged, putting the bottle to his lips and tipping his head back. It burned going down, the sludgy liquid leaving a nasty film on his tongue as he swallowed it down.

Mickey flinched a little as Cole's mouth closed around his dick. He didn't bother looking down, not at all interested in the act besides the finale. He chugged more of the bottle, intent on getting as fucked up as he could, as fast as possible.

He let his head rest against the concrete wall, sipping his pruno slowly as Cole worked his cock with his mouth.

It did the trick. As he got drunker and slipped closer and closer to the edge of orgasm, his mind went blank. No thoughts of Ian or his whereabouts or the fact that Ian didn't love him anymore. No pain or sadness or anger. Just the booze blurring his edges and the hot mouth stretched around his dick.

Mickey chugged the last of the bottle, tossing it to the side and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes caught on that stupid Mickey Mouse watch on his wrist.

11:59

He kept his eyes trained on the watch as Cole's head bobbed in his lap. He watched the little clock switch from 11:59 to 12:00.

Happy new year.

Yeah, okay.

He dropped his hand to the back of Cole's head and closed his eyes. Fuck new year's, fuck Ian. Fuck everything.

He comes like that. With his eyes closed, his head spinning, and his heart empty.

 

***

 

Ian's not having fun. He didn't even want to come to this stupid party. Caleb's friends are pretentious and boring. But Ian's trying desperately to broaden his horizons.

When he started dating Caleb, it became painfully clear to Ian that he'd lived a sheltered life. Which was ironic considering all the shit he'd seen and done.

But the life that Caleb lived was so outside Ian's realm of reality, it was obvious Ian had a lot to learn about life beyond the south side.

Art galleries and four-star restaurants. Government spending and current events. Popular culture and social justice movements.

Ian was lost most of the time, but he hid it well. Usually.

Ian was trying. He followed Caleb to these dull parties, tried to keep up when people talked about art or the theater. Fucking politics. He felt ridiculous the whole time, no matter how much shit he read on the internet to educate himself.

These just weren't his people.

But they could be. If Ian just tired hard enough, he might just be that person.

Yeah, okay.

Ian was nursing a beer. A beer he shouldn't be drinking. He's been taking his health a lot more seriously in the past year. Thinking about his future, what he wants from it. He's even working on becoming an EMT. It's hard work, and his meds make it really hard to concentrate. But he's doing it. And he's fucking proud of himself.

He can do this. He can make a life for himself. A normal, chaos free, middle America life.

Ian feels a little guilty when he thinks like this. Like he's better than his upbringing. Better than his family. Better than his past. It's not like that, not really. He just wants to be more. There's nothing wrong with that.

He has to keep reminding himself. There's nothing wrong with change. With growth.

Ian glances at the clock. It's five minutes to midnight. This year has been crazy for Ian. His family is going through a fair amount of shit. Lip's drinking too much, and Fiona is engaged to some junkie she met at work. Debbie is very pregnant, and now she's gone, at some fucking hippie commune with Frank's crazy ex. Carl is a god damn mess. Slinging drugs and guns. He's got fucking cornrows, for god's sake. Ian can't make heads or tails of any of this bullshit.

He finds himself putting more and more distance between himself and his family. He stays at Caleb's most nights, studying for his EMT exam. He hasn't really spent all that much time on N. Wallace at all since Christmas.

He's so out of the loop, it's absurd.

Hell, he heard Kev and Vee are in some kind of new age three-way relationship with Svetlana. That news had thoroughly confused Ian at first. But when he thinks about what he knows about Svetlana, it makes sense.

She's an opportunist. She uses people to get what she wants. She utilized her pregnancy to get Terry to force Mickey to marry her. Then she took all she could from Mickey until she wrung him dry. Ian remember through his med-induced fog, how Svetlana had made Mickey do hits in jail for money. Stabbing people, fucking starting fights he could never win. All so she could line her pockets. She kept most of the money, obviously. And now she's using Kev and Vee. For a place to stay, someone to help her take care of her kid. If Ian knows Svetlana at all, she probably has some big elaborate plan to take the Balls for all they're worth, and leave them twisting in the breeze like she did with Mickey.

Fuck. Mickey.

Ian doesn't allow himself to think of Mickey. It's painful and it kind of feels like going backwards. He feels guilty about the way he cut Mickey out of his life. But he could see no alternative. How was Ian supposed to get his life together if he stayed stuck in the past with a guy he couldn't even touch for fifteen years? Ian couldn't focus on his own life, his own health, if he was all twisted up in Mickey's insanity. Mickey made his choices. Mickey put himself in jail. None of that was Ian's fault. So why should he subject himself to the ongoing stress of maintaining a relationship with a guy he's not even dating anymore?

It sounds like bullshit, even in Ian's own head. It was just easier for Ian to make a clean break.

Yes, he broke up with Mickey that day on his front porch. The day Mickey went away for good. But Ian's not sure they'd have stayed apart if Mickey had never gone to jail. But Ian tries not to dwell on the 'what if's', because it makes no difference. Mickey IS in jail. And Ian needs to move on.

Ian still loves Mickey. Probably always will. But that doesn't matter. Because Mickey's gone, and Ian hasn't even tried to reach out to him a single time since their last visit. Mickey would probably spit on Ian if given the chance. The damage done to their relationship is permanent and irreparable. So Ian tries not to let himself wallow too much in his feelings for Mickey. The pain and regret and longing is too much.

Ian tries not to feel too strongly about much anything these days. Tries not to get too worked up, too passionate, too angry. And Mickey has always brought out Ian's strongest, scariest emotions. Those all-consuming feelings raging inside are dangerous for someone like Ian. So he pushes it down, deep down into the very bottom of his mind. If he refuses to think about it, then maybe it will fade away and Ian can move on.

Yeah, okay.

The room erupts into chaos as the clock ticks down to midnight.

Caleb wanders over to him, seemingly materializing out of the ether. He pulls Ian to his chest, a wide, drunken smile splitting his lips.

Ian lets himself be manhandled. He lets his boyfriend pull him to his chest. He lets Caleb tilt his head back, fisting his hair tight. He lets Caleb kiss him as the ball drops and the room shakes with revelers celebrating.

Ian lets it all happen, but his mind is elsewhere. Just this once, he's gonna let his mind wander. Just this once, he's going to to think about Mickey. What is new year's like in jail? Does anyone visit him?

Does he ever think of Ian?

Ian closes his eyes as Caleb pushes his tongue into his mouth. Behind his closed eyes, he sees bright blue eyes and a wide cocky smirk.

Yeah, Ian's moved on with his life. His head is in a totally different place than it was a year ago.

But his heart? His heart is still stuck.

He's starting to wonder if he'll ever truly be free of this shit.

He's starting to wonder if he wants to really be free of him at all...

"Happy New Year, baby." Caleb whispers, pulling Ian out of his head. Ian's eyes pop open, and he give Caleb a small smile.

His mind is a mess, and he needs to reign it in. He can't afford to let himself get twisted up in old memories and useless remorse.

"Yeah, happy new year." Ian replies, pushing Mickey and all the baggage that comes with him to the back of his mind, pulling Caleb to his lips again.

 

***

 

New Year's Eve, 2016

 

Ian's sure he's made a mistake in attending this party. He glances around the room, watching people grinding on each other with wide drunken smiles on their faces. The pulsing neon lights of the club hurt Ian's eyes, and he can feel his anxiety starting to bubble just under the surface. But Trevor invited him, and Ian wasn't gonna say no.

Ian has been trying to get back into Trevor's good graces since he got back from his little jaunt to the border with Mickey.

Ian tries not to think about Mickey, or his fate on the other side of the border. Ian feels like he's been trying and failing not to think about Mickey for years now. Ever since Mickey first got locked up, Ian's been desperately trying to push his ex out of his mind.

It's a losing battle, but now that Mickey's really gone forever, Ian knows he has to keep trying. Otherwise, he'll never be able to move on with his life.

Trevor has not forgiven Ian for running off with Mickey. Ian understands that, to a point. Ian is a cheater, and a liar. But if Trevor's not going to give Ian another shot, he should say so and let Ian go. But it's been months of this same shit. Ian pursuing Trevor constantly. Spending money on him, taking him out, wooing the shit out of him, and Trevor giving Ian just enough to keep him interested, but never fully committing to him.

Ian's not even sure why he's still trying so damn hard. Maybe it's the thrill of the chase, or maybe it's wanting what he can't have. It doesn't feel like love.

Ian knows what love feels like, and this isn't it.

Just then, Trevor bounds over, smiling. His hair is slick with sweat, and his t shirt is sticking to his chest. He grabs Ian by the wrist and pulls him into the center of the swarm of moving bodies.

Ian goes with it. It feels good to dance. His mind goes blank and he lets the pounding pulse of the music sooth his fraying nerves. Ian's been on edge lately. He can feel the tendrils of mania licking at the edges of his mind, but he ignores it. It's normal, to feel a little keyed up now and again. It doesn't automatically mean he's losing his shit.

"It's almost midnight." Trevor whisper-shouts against Ian's ear. He pulls back to give Ian a flirty smile. "You gotta resolution?"

Ian smiled back, shaking his head. "I don't do those. Do you?"

Trevor nodded, grinning wider. He slid his palms down Ian's chest before settling his hands on Ian's hips as they danced together.

"Yeah, I do."

"And?" Ian prompted. "What is it?"

"I'm gonna give you another chance. See if you've really changed." he raised his eyebrows in the green lights of the club. "And I think your resolution should be to treat me right. Don't make me regret letting you in again."

Ian nodded, an odd bubble of anxiety building in his chest again. He doesn't like the way Trevor talks to him these days. Like he's better than Ian, and he's lowering himself somehow by even associating with Ian. Like he’s doing Ian some big favor by deigning to hang out with him. It's been like this since Ian got back from the border.

But Ian's not ready to give up. He's lost so much in the past year. Mickey is gone for good, his mother is fucking dead.

Trevor is all Ian has now, and Ian's not ready to admit defeat.

This is not how Ian envisioned his life. But it's all he has, so he's going to have to work with it.

Ian closes his eyes as Trevor dips his head down, sucking a hickey onto Ian's neck as they grind against each other to the music. The club is packed, bodies on all sides whooping and hollering as they get closer and closer to midnight. Ian remembers how it used to feel, dancing in the club like this. That rush of excitement, the thrill of all those eyes on him. That swell of pride in his chest when men undressed him with their eyes. That wild, free energy that used to flow through him as he swayed to the beat.

He doesn't feel any of that anymore. He feels old and tired. Like an interloper. He doesn't belong here, not anymore.

He wants to go home, but if he bailed now he'd never hear the end of it. So he wraps his arms around Trevor's waist, pulling him close as the crowd starts to lose it.

The countdown starts and Ian counts along, screaming out the last seconds of the year. His mouth keeps moving but his mind is elsewhere.

Where is Mickey?

Is he safe in Mexico? Is he happy? Is he with someone tonight like Ian is? Is he unhappy and unsatisfied, like Ian is? Does he ever think of Ian? Miss him? Does he regret the way things turned out as much as Ian does? Does he wish he could take it all back? Start over?

Or has he moved on in a way Ian can't seem to? Is he glad Ian's gone? Is he happier now than Ian could ever make him?

That possibility makes Ian's heart ache.

He misses Mickey. And now, for the rest of his life, all he'll ever have is the hope that Mickey misses him too.

He can feel his throat tightening up, his eyes burning just a little. He pushes it down as best he can as he threads his fingers through Trevor's hair, tilting his head back. The other man looks up at him, a smile on his face.

As the clock strikes midnight, Ian kisses his date, but his mind is hundreds of miles away, on a beach in Mexico, with the love of his life.

 

***

 

Mickey is standing on the balcony, watching the waves crash against the rocks below. The house is high up on a cliff, and the view is incredible. The moon is bright, high in the sky, illuminating the veranda and the surrounding cliffs.

When Mickey first got to Veracruz, he was amazed by the ocean. He'd never seen anything like it. Now, it's just another part of his life. All that newness and beauty had worn off quick.

His new life is not at all what he expected. He's alone in a place he doesn't know, doing things he never thought he'd be doing.

He fell in with the cartel by accident. When he first got to Mexico, he was a fucking mess. After Ian left him, again, he felt like he had nothing to live for. What was the point? No one cared if he lived or died. Ian certainly didn't give a shit.

So Mickey had taken all of Ian's money, and put it up his nose. Desperate to numb the pain of being abandoned, he gave himself over to drugs entirely. First coke, then dope. Heroin was cheap down here, and the more he did the less he felt. And that was the goal, right? Total numbness. Emptiness.

He'd gotten deep into debt quickly. Mickey is fairly certain the cartel was going to just kill him, wipe the debt and free themselves of his bullshit. But one of the lieutenants in the local chapter of Loz Zeetas had a soft spot for Mickey. Reminded him of his dead son, or something. So they transferred his debt in some strange kind of work release program.

They owned Mickey now. It was that simple.

The job was one that no one else in the cartel wanted anyway.

Mickey was the cleaner. His years of experience cleaning up after his father's violent tirades has finally come in handy. It's not like he has to be CSI or anything, the corrupt cops down here don't give a shit, hardly investigate these crimes at all. All Mickey has to do to get the job done is wipe down the surfaces for fingerprints, wash away the blood and brain bits, and bury the bodies.

The cartel has some land on the outskirts of the city, at the base of the mountain range. There is a mass grave up there, full of the dismembered bodies of anyone stupid enough to cross the cartel.

Mickey's buried dozens of bodies in that graveyard in the months since he took up with Loz Zeetas.

Mickey sips his drink, considering the bleak turn his life has taken. He finds he's glad Ian abandoned him. Mickey could never do this shit with Ian. He would never let this shit touch Ian.

Ian's too good for this shit. Too good for Mickey.

Mickey has always known that. He just forgot for a minute.

A hand on Mickey's shoulder startles him. He whips around fast, fist raised but relaxes immediately when he sees Ceri standing there.

Ceri is a prostitute that hangs out with the cartel. She's young, maybe twenty one. She parties hard and speaks good english. She's always hanging around the house where the soldiers live. Like tonight, New Year's Eve. Ceri has been at the house all night, shooting H and blowing dudes.

Mickey doesn't know how she does it. But then again, who is he to judge?

"Jesus fuck, Ceri. You scared the shit outta me. Lucky my guns in the bedroom, or you'd have a fucking hole in your head."

Ceri just chuckles, throwing her long dark hair over her shoulder. She was wearing a black barely there dress, her tits on full display for the world to see. "Marco sent me over. Says it's time for you to celebrate."

Mickey rolled his eyes. No one in Mexico knew he was gay. It was going to stay that way, too. He sneaks off to another beach town an hour or so away when he needs to get his homo rocks off, but when he's in Veracruz, it's strictly pussy. It's way too dangerous to be any other way. Mickey watched Marco cut a guy's dick off when he found out he was a fag.

Mickey buried that guy too.

So yeah, he kept a lid on his personal proclivities. He was fond of his dick, and partial to his life.

"What did you have in mind?" Mickey smirks, putting on the mask, playing the part.

After he came out, all those years ago, he never thought he'd have to don this persona again. But now that he does, he finds it fits, just like it used to. Like an ugly old coat that you hate, but still keeps you warm.

Ceri smirked, running her hands up and down Mickey's chest. "Let me show you."

That's how Mickey found himself on his back, in his bed upstairs as the party goes on below them. He's naked now, a couple of freshly used needles laying on his nightstand. He closes his eyes as his high washes over him. He can barely feel Ceri's hands on his body, her mouth on his cock.

His body responds automatically, but his mind is a million miles away. When Mickey's high like this, his defenses are down, and his brain runs freely. It's shitty, but he can't be bothered to care at the moment.

So when Ceri climbs on top of him and starts working her tight body on his cock, he lets his eyes remain closed. He lets images of red hair and pale skin fill his head. He lets the sound of Ian's harsh breathing bleed into his ears. He feels the strong grip of callused hands, instead of the soft touch of manicured fingers.

Mickey floats away on a sea of Ian, barely registering his own orgasm, or the loud chorus of "Feliz año nuevo!!!!" that echo throughout the house.

This is Mickey’s life now. Violence, lies, and stolen moments in his mind with someone he loves, but can’t ever have again.

As the new year’s celebration goes on in the house all around him, Mickey wonders how many more of these years he can really take before it’s too much and he just gives up.

 

New Year's Eve, 2018

 

Ian is sitting at the small desk in his cell, writing. He writes all the time. He writes letters sometimes. But mostly he writes in a little composition notebook his shrink gave him. To track his mood, process his emotions. Plan the future.

Ian loves planning for the future now.

For the longest time, Ian had felt lost. Like he had no direction, no purpose. Nothing to look forward to.

But all that shit's changed now.

It's just so like Ian that he'd have to go to jail to find a reason to live.

That reason is currently relaxing on the bottom bunk of their shared cell, the earbuds of his clear commissary radio firmly planted in his ears as he rocks out to the WROX New Year's Eve show.

Ian glances over at Mickey, and his heart swells. He still can't believe it's true. That Mickey came back for him, put his life on the line for him. That Mickey still loves him, after everything.

Sometimes it feels like too much. Sometimes Ian's certain he's going to fuck it up. Sometimes he feels like he doesn't even deserve any of it.

But whenever he feels that way, Mickey can see it in his eyes, and calls him a fucking idiot, and Ian smiles. Every time.

This is where he belongs. Not in jail, but with Mickey. He belongs with Mickey. And he's going to stay right next to him as long as Mickey will let him.

 

Mickey's watching Ian. He likes to do that. He'd spent so much time over the years they were apart imagining Ian's face. Now that he gets to see it all the time, he takes advantage whenever possible.

Right now, though, Ian's got that look on his face. The look that says he's beating himself up over ancient history. Again.

Mickey plucks the earbuds from his ears, letting them rest on his chest as he tilts his head toward his boyfriend.

"Stop." he says quietly.

Ian's eyes shoot over and he gives Mickey a guilty smile. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize." Mickey grinned back. "Close that book and get over here. Lights out in like thirty seconds."

"How can you possibly know that?" Ian chuckled, closing his book nonetheless. He stuck his pen on top of the notebook and moved toward the bed, shedding his uniform and tossing it up on his bunk. He crawled into Mickey's bunk in his boxer shorts, and just as he settled next to him, the lights went out.

"Told you so." Mickey chuckled, letting Ian maneuver him until he was splayed out on top of Ian's bare chest, his head over his heart.

"How long until new year's?" Ian asks, running his fingers through Mickey dark hair. He's letting it grow out again. Ian loves it when it's shaggy like this. Loves curling his fingers through it, loves pulling it until Mickey gasps.

"Lights go out at midnight every night, Ian." Mickey chuckled. "How do you not know this shit?"

Ian laughed, pinching Mickey's shoulder. "Sorry I don't have the prison schedule memorized like some model inmates I know."

Mickey laughed, but let it go. They just laid there for a while, holding each other. Mickey's radio was still playing, the sound of music flowing out of the earbuds, barely audible but there.

After a few long moments of peaceful silence between them, a thought occurs to Ian.

"Hey Mick, when was the first time we celebrated new year's together?"

Mickey sat up a little, resting on one elbow while his other hand drew random patterns on Ian's bare chest. He considered Ian's question, his mind flipping through endless bank of Ian-related memories. It was a long, convoluted list, and it took him a moment to get there.

"Together, together?" he asked, skimming his hand down Ian's side. "Or just in the same place at the same time?"

Ian's brow furrowed, confused. "What? What do you mean?"

Mickey smiled, cocking his head to the side. "Don'tcha remember? Jenny Harper's party."

Ian's brow furrows deeply, confusion evident on his face. Mickey just smirks down at him, eyebrows raised.

"Holy shit!" Ian laughs when it finally dawns on him. "That was like ten years ago."

Mickey nodded, still smiling. "Yeah."

Ian's mind goes back, the memories old and fuzzy. "I don't remember you being there."

"I remember you." Mickey muses, a faraway look in his eyes. "You looked like someone ran over your puppy. I thought you were pissed my sister was dry humping that Josh asshole. Guess I missed the mark on that one."

"Oh god." Ian groaned. "Josh Miles. I haven't thought about him in years. I was so in love with that guy."

Mickey chuckled, shaking his head. "Knowing what I do now, that makes perfect sense. But at the time I thought you were bummed about Mandy. I remember thinking you looked as sad as I felt. I wanted to say something to you, but didn't know how." Mickey's voice trailed off at the end. He buried his face in Ian's chest, trying to hide the hot blush breaking out on his skin.

Ian was having none of it, however. He placed his hand on the side of Mickey's face, tipping it back so they were eye to eye.

"All those years ago, and you were already wanting to make me feel better. Jesus Mick."

Mickey rolled his eyes. No use denying it.

"You look like you needed a friend." he replied quietly. "I knew what that felt like. Not like I did a damn thing anyway. Couldn't do shit for years. Still fuck it up."

Ian frowned, cupping the back of Mickey's neck in his palm. "Don't say that. We both fucked up, but none of that shit matters anymore. Cuz we're here now, and this is it, right? Me and you, forever." Ian's eyes were pleading, like he was desperate for Mickey to understand how serious he was.

"Yeah, Ian." Mickey replied quietly, nodding. "Forever."

Ian smiled, using the hand on the back of Mickey's neck to pull him into a kiss.

Mickey grins against Ian's lips, his tongue darting out to taste his boyfriend's lips. Ian always tastes good. Not like coffee or the illicit rollie they split after dinner. Just Ian. Just Mickey's. And Mickey can't get enough.

Ian huffs out a harsh breath as Mickey leans over, hovering over Ian's prone form. Mickey's hand slides up his chest, along his neck, before landing in his hair. Ian's letting it grow a little bit, and the longer tresses remind Mickey of Ian's time dancing at the Fairytale. 

Ian's hot all over. Mickey is kissing him hard, his tongue pushing into his mouth insistently as his fingers tangle in his hair. Ian's hands fly up, wrapping Mickey in his arms and pulling him to his chest.

Mickey moans quietly, surging up so he can straddle his boyfriend. He throws a leg over Ian's lap, settling on top of him with a sigh.

"Fuck, Mick." Ian groaned, his hands automatically moving to cup Mickey's ass. The prison issue boxers were loose, so Ian's hands slid into the waistband easily. Mickey's ass was hard and smooth and so warm. Ian's index finger rested on Mickey's bullet wound scar, just like it always did when they were laying like this.

Mickey is broken and scarred up. Ian has been there to witness a lot of those wounds. He's been the cause of some of those scars, inside and out. But all that shit made Mickey the man he is today, and Ian fucking loves him, scars and all.

They may both be broken. But their pieces together make a whole.

"I want you." Mickey groans, nipping at Ian's bottom lip.

"Yeah. C'mon." Ian nods, gently shoving Mickey over so he can wriggle out of his own boxers.

Mickey drops down on the bed next to him, leaning back so he can slip out of his boxers.

Ian grabs the portable radio, laying it on top of his notebook.

"Don't turn it off." Mickey says, reaching for Ian again. "The station's gonna announce when the ball drops."

"You're really into this new year's shit, huh?" Ian chuckled, rolling over so he was on top. He reached down, palming Mickey's thigh before hitching it up over his hip.

"So what if I am?" Mickey replied, smiling. "Finally got something to look forward to."

Ian smiled down at Mickey, feeling that familiar sadness trying to surface again.

So much wasted time. So many missed opportunities.

Mickey can sense Ian is seconds from a guilt spiral. That just won't do. He wraps his arms around Ian’s shoulders, tightening his thighs around his hips.

"With me, Gallagher." he murmured, rolling his hips. "Stay with me."

Ian locks eyes with him, nodding once. He knows Mickey means stay in the moment, but Ian intends to stay with Mickey for the rest of his life.

"C'mon. Let's ring this new year in right for once, huh?" Mickey smirks, surging up for another kiss. Ian kisses him back voraciously, trying to convey all his overwhelming emotions with his lips and tongue.

Soon, they are both so worked up the are shamelessly grinding on each other, their hard cocks sliding against each other.

Mickey wishes he could ride Ian. God, he'd fuck him so good. Take his so good. But they can't do shit like that inside. It's risky enough as it is, they can't draw any more attention to themselves. So Mickey reluctantly twists in Ian’s arms, facing away from him instead. He lays his head against the concrete wall, sighing in contentment when he feels Ian slide up behind him, his arm curling around Mickey's waist as he rubs his erection between his ass cheeks.

"I'm good, took care of myself while you were in the shower." Mickey sighs, pushing his ass against Ian's pelvis.

Ian groans against Mickey's shoulder. "Jesus Mick. You know what it does to me when you talk about prepping yourself like that. Getting ready for my cock. Fuck. When we get outta here, I'm gonna make you put on a show for me. So hot."

Mickey grins, his face heating up. It got him so hard when Ian said shit like that. That he wanted Mickey, that Mickey turned him on. Mickey reached back with one hand, cupping Ian's ass in his palm. "C'mon then. Show me."

Ian chuckles, pulling one hand back so he could spit in it before sliding his palm along his shaft, coating it as well as he could.

Mickey was breathing hard, anticipation curling in his gut as Ian's hand returned to his hip. He could feel the head of Ian's cock pressed up against his opening, and he let out a slow breath as his lover started pressing forward.

Ian groaned lowly as he shimmied his hips, pushing and pulling so as not to hurt Mickey too much. Mickey was having none of it, though. He reached back once more, pulling on Ian's hip until he was pressed deep inside him. Filling him up just right.

"Ah, jesus." Mickey moaned, his back arching as Ian started rolling his hips. His movements were slow, deliberate. He always had to keep control. He could never really let go in here, fuck Mickey the way they both loved. Hard. Fast. Fucking wild.

But it was still good. So fucking good.

Ian's hands were everywhere. Sliding along Mickey's ribcage, cupping his ass, gripping his hip. His tongue laved at Mickey's neck, his teeth nipping his shoulder.

"Mickey." Ian whined, his hips thrusting faster, harder. "God, you feel so good. I, fuck, I love you so much."

Mickey's face split into a wide, bright smile as he turned his head to face Ian. Their eyes locked and Ian's hips stuttered.

God, Ian was fucking beautiful like this. Face flushed, eyes wide, hair wild. Mickey lurched forward, kissing Ian hard. "Touch me, Ian. Please."

Ian's hand is moving before Mickey's even done talking. He slides his fingers down Mickey's sweat soaked chest, dragging his fingertips along his stomach before closing his fist around Mickey's weeping cock.

Mickey chokes out an aborted moan as Ian starts jerking him off. He's close already, he's been waiting for this all day. "Fuck yeah." he sighs, backing into Ian's thrusts before surging forward into his fist.

"Mick, I'm gonna come." Ian groans, his hips slapping against Mickey's ass. The small cell is filled with the sounds of their skin colliding and thier harsh breathing.

"Yeah, fuck. Do it. I'm ready." Mickey moans. Ian feels so good inside him. Ian's hands feel so good on his body, on his cock. Mickey can't take any more. His eyes roll back in his head as his body tightens up and he comes all over Ian's hand and the stiff prison sheets.

Ian moans against Mickey's neck when he clenches around Ian's cock. He fucks into him twice more before stilling with his hips flush against his ass, coming hard deep inside his lover.

They lay like that for a moment, all tangled up in each other, sweat cooling on their skin as their hearts slow and their breathing evens out. Too soon for Mickey's liking, Ian is pulling out and away, reaching under the bunk for a discarded sock. He uses the piece of cloth to wipe down his dick before passing it to Mickey.

Mickey grimaced at the cooling come on the sock, but turned it inside out and used it to clean himself up as best he could before tossing it back to the floor and pulling his boxers back up over his hips.

Once they were as clean as they could be, Ian got comfortable on his back, curling his arm around Mickey's shoulder and pulling him to his chest. Mickey came easily, winding his arm around Ian's middle and resting his head on his chest.

Ian opened his mouth to speak, but just then the bell sounds along the teir, and the lights go out. The cell is illuminated by a harsh fluorescent light in the hallway. A low rumble echoes across the tier. Muffled yelling and banging on the shared walls.

"Looks like we just had ourselves a new year's." Mickey mumbled, leaning back to glance up at his lover.

Ian smiled down at him, leaning over to press their lips together. The kiss was chaste, all heat gone now, leaving only gentle lips and slow sliding tongues. "Happy new year, Mick."

Mickey grinned, kissing Ian quickly once more before pulling back to rest his head on Ian's chest. "Happy new year Gallagher."

Ian buried his face in Mickey's hair, inhaling deeply. Mickey's scent calmed him immensely. Always has. Ian took one more deep breath, kissing Mickey's hair gently before training his eyes on the bunk above them.

"Hey Mick, how long have we known each other?" Ian wondered suddenly, his brain working out the math slowly.

Mickey thought about it for a minute, his brow furrowed. "I dunno, forever. We were in little league back in elementary school...."

"Nah, I mean, how long have we known each other like this? You know." Ian gave Mickey a look, motioning between them with his free hand.

"What? Like hooking up?” Mickey asked, smiling. “Shit, nine years or so. We started fucking when, 2011? It's been a minute." Mickey chuckled, memories of a freckle-faced punk with balls the size of watermelons filling his mind. Ian's always been a tough motherfucker, even way back when he was a scrawny little dweeb.

"How many new years have we spent together?" Ian continued, unable to recall that many memories.

"Not enough." Mickey replied quietly. He and Ian may have known each other for over ten year, they may have been in love for more than five, but a lot of those years don't mean shit. They have never really had much of a chance to just love each other. Time and circumstances have torn them apart over and over.

Looking back, they have very few happy memories to share.

"Well, then, that's what our resolution should be." Ian says, nodding to himself. "We're gonna spend every new year's together from now on. Forever."

Mickey snorted out a disbelieving laugh, leaning back to give Ian a little glare. "That's gonna be hard to do when you're back on the street and I'm doing two more years."

Ian rolled his eyes, pulling Mickey back to his side. "I'm not going anywhere, Mick. We're gonna see this shit through, and make our lives for ourselves on the other side, together. Promise."

Mickey nodded, giving Ian a small smile. He wanted to believe Ian. It was just hard, given their history.

But he was gonna try.

Ian was here, and he wanted Mickey. That's all that matters anymore. If Ian's willing to try, Mickey's sure as shit do the same.

Their new year's celebrations may have been few and far between, and a lot of those memories are tainted with pain and anger, but that's all in the past now.

New year, new beginning.

Mickey glances up at Ian, who is already staring at him with that dopey love-filled look that he reserves only for Mickey, and only for times like these. When words just aren't enough, and he has to convey his emotions with his eyes.

"Happy new year, Gallagher, here's hoping this year is better than the last, huh?"

Ian's face split into a wide smile, his hand coming up to curl his fingers in Mickey's hair. He pulled his boyfriend as close as possible, resting their forehead together. "It already is."

Mickey grinned back, leaning in for another kiss. He'd never get tired of this. Never get tired of Ian or the way he makes Mickey feel. Never stop trying, never stop fighting.

Mickey thought the clock had run out on his time with Ian. He had accepted the fact that it was over and he'd never love someone like that ever again.

But now, laying in this prison cot, wrapped up in Ian's arms, he can say for the first time in his life that the final countdown of this year truly feels like the start of something better.

The beginning of forever....


End file.
